Tuesday, May 17, 2016

The Atlanta Airport and Project Armchair


I spent this weekend in Atlanta attending a really good reading conference, as conferences go. Sometimes you spend two days wondering why in the world you missed work to attend such a time-waster.  This was not the case.  I loved it.  And Atlanta in May is something to behold.  Eighty degrees and flowering Magnolia trees do the heart good.  Especially when you hear that it’s snowing at home. 

Yesterday morning I didn’t oversleep, got myself dressed and packed in good time, checked out of the hotel, and found a taxi to shuttle me to the airport.  I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself for being so cosmopolitan and efficient. 

I thought the check-in desks were doing a brisk business for 6:15 a.m. (“busy airport” back home means the lady in front of you forgot that she packed her rheumatism medicine in her check-in bag and needs to fish it out, thus holding up the line, such as it is).  I checked my suitcase and headed to the security checkpoint.  As I read the signs for security, more and more people began to swirl around me, like minnows in a tide pool.  Generally, if I don’t know where I am going, I just start following the masses, assuming SOMEONE in the group knows.  I adopted this survival skill once again.  The pack and I were stopped by personnel before long and told that the security station we were seeking was not usable.  We were told to head the other direction and try another one.  The pack and I dutifully obeyed and wandered until we sighted a line ahead.  A very, very long line.  Did I mention it was long?? And growing exponentially by the minute. 

The line soon snaked around the first three baggage claim carousels.  Then carousels #’s four and five.  Soon the entire baggage claim area was flooded with frustrated, disbelieving passengers.  We were so far away from the actual security check-point that it was not even visible.  I may or may not have overheard a few expletives.  The tension in the air was palpable.  Tempers were sizzling.  The poor business man behind me conveyed that his flight was boarding at that very moment.  It left before he even got through security. 

In the chaos of that scene, I suddenly heard the soft strains of… stringed music?  I set my carry-on down for a moment to give my screaming shoulder a rest and craned my neck to try to detect the source.  Not far behind me, there in the corner, stood a young woman.  She couldn’t have been more than twenty-something.  She had a music stand in front of her and was playing classical music, with eyes closed, and a soft smile on her face.  She seemed sweetly oblivious to the maelstrom around her. 

There was something so charming and peaceful and utterly out of place about the scene.  I have grown to expect Hip Hop blaring out of somebody’s earbuds.  Classical music, not so much.  As I stood trying to watch her, even as the lines lunged and lurched forward, I felt the tension around me dissipate.  Saw it melt from the faces around me.  Sensed it roll off my own shoulders.  That sweet, young angel had done something good.  It felt a little magical.

I couldn’t help but connect that scene to the children my team and I read to every week.  It has always been my hope, my dream, my goal, that we would have the same therapeutic effect on those precious, confused, suffering, frustrated children.  That they would crane their necks searching for the source of magic, and find one of us; there… in the corner.  A joy on our face that infuses them with hope.  A hope that brings serenity in the midst of cacophony.

Thank you, Airport Angel, for brightening my day.  I hope we do the same for others.

I found a story about her in a Google search - her name is Jennifer Warrilaw